


some pieces they adjoin

by likewinning



Series: nothing gets crossed out [9]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:11:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6174196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(613): I wrote a list of things I enjoy doing. So far it says "get high and go to museums."</p>
            </blockquote>





	some pieces they adjoin

Tim's appalled when Jason lights up a joint on the way to the art museum. "What?" Jason asks him. "How do you think half these people _created_ their art?"

"That's so not true," Tim tells him, but he takes the joint from Jason anyway. This is the first thing they've done together in a while that wasn't school or partying or messing around at Jason's house. Tim's got an after school job now and he's _trying_ to get serious about college - even though he kind of freaks out every time he thinks about it.

"Well," Jason says, taking the joint back from him. "That's what they'll say about _me_ in thirty years or so, when I get famous." In the parking lot, he shotguns a hit to Tim, tasting like nicotine and the candy they had for lunch.

"Just," Tim says, running his hand through Jason's hair. "Promise you won't cut off an ear to do it, okay?"

" _I put my heart and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process_ ," Jason quotes.

"Yeah," Tim says. " _That_ you can remember, but when it comes to doing your homework for History?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jason says. "C'mon, let's go be classy fuckers and stuff."

 

*

 

The thing is, Jason's actually pretty serious about art. He's dismissive of his own stuff most of the time even though Tim's seen him paint and paint and _paint_ for hours, and there's a lot of art that he _hates_ \- anything, Jason says, that looks more like shapes than like _pictures_ -, but Jason knows his _shit_.

Maybe it's just because he's stoned, but when they stop in front of a painting and Jason starts talking breathlessly about brush strokes and color and lighting, Tim _has_ to make out with him, right that second.

"Mm," Jason says, when Tim finishes trying to get his tongue past Jason's tonsils. "What was that for?"

"I don't know," Tim says. He can feel himself blushing, and Jason brings a hand up to his cheek. "Guess I just forget how smart you are sometimes."

"Smarter than the average bear," Jason agrees. He kisses Tim again, then grabs his hand. "Hey, come this way. There's something I want you to see."

They walk a little ways, losing themselves a couple times at a huge spiraling sculpture of coat hangers, some sort of urn that even Tim admits looks like it was made for nothing more than to smoke pot out of, a long black dress that doesn't look one bit special.

"Hm," Jason says, nudging him. "Y'know, I always wondered what you'd look like in a dress."

" _Jason_ ," Tim says, but he's too high to do anything but giggle.

"Yeah," Jason says, running his fingers down Tim's spine. Tim shivers. "You've got the skinny little pins for it. And those hipbones…"

"Not gonna happen," Tim assures him, dragging him away from the dress.

"Roy probably has one you can borrow," Jason says, in _that_ voice, the one that goes right to his dick.

"That's," Tim says, swallowing. Jason grins at him, eyes dark with it, and Tim licks his lips. "I'm not saying _yes_ , just. _Oh_ ," he says, because Jason lifts him _up_ like a ragdoll. He swears Jason's grown another two or three inches since they started _whatever_ , and he makes Tim feel _tiny_.

"Jay," Tim whispers. "We're gonna get kicked out." He looks over Jason's shoulder for security guards, but he doesn't see any. Jason just chuckles, squeezes his ass and kisses his nose.

"You got any idea how much money Bruce has put in this place?" he asks. "I'm _not_ worried, baby."

Tim whines when Jason squeezes him again, and Jason _finally_ sets him down, and they walk a little ways until Jason grabs his hand again and says, "Here. This is it."

 _This_ is a photography exhibit. Black and whites, full color, faded sepia photos from nearly a century ago. The first time Tim told Jason about his pictures they were drunk, sitting on the porch at Roy's crummy place watching people go by and Tim just blurted it out, all the photographs he had of people he knew, people he didn't -

"Any of me?" Jason teased, but Tim just looked and looked at him and said, "Yeah."

Tim had more than a few of him, of Dick - even of Roy. At the time, Jason laughed and called him a stalker, but now -

Now, Jason wraps his arms around Tim from behind, kisses his neck and murmurs in his ear, "You could do this. You're so fucking good, baby, this could be _you_."

A couple weeks ago, Tim let Jason see some of his photos. He didn't say anything for the longest time, and then he set the photos on his nightstand, pulled Tim into his lap and asked, "Can't you just be bad at _something_ for once?"

Tim blushed, and Jason kissed the corner of his mouth. "I mean," Tim said. "I'm pretty terrible at drawing?"

"Heh. I liked the little stick figures you drew for that one project."

Tim scowled. "Fuck you," he said, and Jason _grinned_ -

Now, Tim leans back into Jason, but says, "Jay…" and he's unsure.

His parents don't know about the photography thing. They've _seen_ the camera, sure, but they think it's just a hobby. His parents - don't know much about Tim's life at all, actually.

They don't know he's thought about following Jason to art school, if Jason actually _goes_.

" _Tim_ ," Jason says back. He bites the shell of Tim's ear, says, "No pressure, right? I just. You've got options, y'know?"

"Yeah," Tim says. He turns around in Jason's arms, looks up at him and asks, "Kiss me?"

They end up in a corner behind a couple of potted plants, their hands down each other's jeans and their mouths all but glued together. Jason always feels so good, his hands are always perfect, and Tim gets so horny when he's high, when he's - anywhere near Jason, really.

He comes first, comes with Jason's hand over his mouth, and he watches Jason lick the mess from his fingers and drops to his knees, gets Jason's jeans open and _sucks_.

"God," Jason says, running his clean hand through Tim's hair. "God, baby, _please_."

He doesn't last long, shoves his fist in his mouth and spills down Tim's throat. Jason zips up and brings Tim back to his feet, and a security guard gives them a very suspicious look as they come out from behind the plants. Or Tim's just stoned and paranoid. Difficult to say.

They stay another hour or so, after which Tim drags Jason to the gift shop and makes him buy him some _awful_ puzzle-version of Van Gogh's self-portrait.

"What are you even going to do with that?" Jason asks.

"I don't know," Tim says. "I thought maybe I'd leave pieces of it in your car every time I see you. You know, so you'll think of me."

"One," Jason says after he pays for the stupid thing, "I always think of you, dummy." He tugs Tim out of the gift shop and toward the exit. "And _two_ : that sounds way too much like something Roy would do."

Tim grins. "Yeah," he says. "He told me every time he's at your place he leaves Pabst bottle caps all over so Bruce knows he's been there."

Jason snorts. "You're both fucking evil."

They drive away from the museum, and Tim shakes the puzzle. "Yeah," he says. "But you _always_ think of me."

Jason flips him off. Tim giggles and looks around for the roach they left in here earlier.


End file.
